


Unmasked

by thefirstwhokneels



Series: The Tavern [2]
Category: Thor (Movies)
Genre: Anonymous Sex, Brothels, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rimming, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-14
Updated: 2013-05-14
Packaged: 2017-12-11 21:52:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/803654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thefirstwhokneels/pseuds/thefirstwhokneels
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sequel to Faceless. Thor and Loki don't know of each other that they visit the same special tavern for special needs... Can this stay forever this way, or like every secret, it's bound to be revealed, too?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unmasked

**Author's Note:**

> Due to popular demand, here is the sequel. Faceless is not exactly prerequisite but you might want to read it anyway..

**Unmasked**

 

 

Oh, he missed this so much, missed the embrace of the strong ivory thighs around him. There is something in the way his every touch is answered, claiming more with uninhibited ravenousness that borders on despair as though this was the only means to sate a hunger that runs deeper than physical needs. Sometimes Thor thinks he recognizes the feeling: the thirst for freedom. Sometimes he itches to know how this mindless drive to offer himself up could become this unknown man’s lifeline.

Under his hands, the lower half of the other man rubs against his body. The sight is still absurd, as is the idea of the whole tavern, of the neighboring rooms where one guest is given the display of the other guest in the adjacent room only from waist down. And yet, in the high position he is trapped in, caught between things he is required to do and those he desires, in that gaping abyss the whole idea has a certain normalcy to it. Maybe not the other man is the only one who found his lifeline here.

His thumbs rasp against the ridges of the hipbones with a certain familiarity. The other man recognized him, Thor knows this for certain, though he cannot pinpoint the moment or movement that made it clear for him. He doesn’t know if it makes any difference to him, or it matters only to Thor that they would meet again. He isn’t sure either if it makes them lovers but in his mind he thinks of the other man as someone whom, in a way, he is linked with.

It is the fifth time over the last three months that they could meet. His tight schedule provided Thor only with limited possibilities to visit the tavern, and even those times nothing could ensure but sheer luck that he would end up with this particular man. On numerous occasions when he required a man, he was refused by the landlord, stating there were only women available that night. In other cases he found some other man on display when he entered the room, and with increasing unease Thor slowly figured out he wanted nobody but the one who is now so pliant and responsive as he curls his hips against Thor’s.

Maybe this is the most warped way of intimacy but Thor feels how he gradually grows dependent on it, and in all honesty, he cannot find any regret in himself. It’s a secret only he possesses, thus there is no one who would ever judge him for finding a perverted liking in it.

From the smooth plains of the man’s belly, his hands move to wrap around the erect shaft, and he smiles at how the whole slim body jerks at the direct contact. He is proud of his own proportion but this one is a truly beautiful cock, flushed pink and curved in a haughty way that makes him smirk and smack his lips. On its ridged length, his fingertips travel downward, pulling at the wrinkles of the foreskin. At the base, they draw the outlines of the tight balls, heavy with something he has tasted so many times yet never can get enough of. The prospect of having the savor on his tongue again arouses him beyond belief. His fingers slip between the cheeks, and he gasps in surprise when he finds there the oily moisture of lube. It floods Thor with a mixture of disappointment that he was robbed of the possibility of working the other man open and loose for him, and a new rush of arousal at the image of creamy fingers sinking in the tight hole, one after the other, in and out and… He groans, his head reeling.

He thrusts two fingers in his own mouth first then pushes against the ring of muscles, gliding through the entrance with only a slight resistance. It will be just the perfect amount for his cock. Two knees snap higher and wider before they cage him in between, sinewy calves twining around his back and squeezing. Thor regards it a sign to move on, and he curls his fingers, teasing the spot he can now locate better than any places in the Nine Realms. The legs around him squeeze again and pull at his torso, and Thor bends his head and bites one leg, the soft flesh right above the kneecap. He gets a kick in the small of his back, and with a snicker he rubs his stubble against the reddened spot just to feel the sharp heel contact with his back anew.

He loves teasing the other, and it’s sometimes beyond belief how he enjoys it without seeing any facial reaction. There is always a certain amount of playfulness in their coupling, under the suffocating waves of ecstasy: the perky, naughty challenge in the rolls of the body he claims, and in the way Thor tries to apply just the right level of taunt that makes the other thrash about for friction, for completion, always for more. 

He pulls his fingers free, the wet pop flaring his arousal so much that he starts to leak.

Then the legs around him tighten again, pull at him again, and to his utter shock they crawl back through the hole in the plank wall and disappear from sight.

For a second, Thor stands there confused, his lust-addled mind unable to process the development, and he stares at the black material shielding off the hole like the dumb idiot Loki likes to call him sometimes. Understanding starts to seep into his mind like a silver whisper someone sighed into his ear in half-consciousness.

The other man wants them to swap places.

Thor hesitates for a heartbeat. It feels like he is asked to give up a part of his anonymity by showing his lower half, and handing over the full control he’s possessed so far. It makes him feel uneasy. As does the idea that the other might want to claim him, and even though he is still a faceless, nameless man, the concept of letting another man take him scrapes his mind with the awful paradigm every Asgardian man is raised to learn.

And then he somehow knows it’s a test. There is a challenge beneath the obvious desire-driven idea, a taunt on its own. Maybe he knows it because he grew up along the best tutor one could ever get: his mischievous little brother who is constantly on a personal quest for pulling Thor’s leg. Maybe the situation at hand should leave him ashamed but the thought of his brother at the moment only urges Thor to take up the gauntlet.

And frankly, it is only fair that he would return the same amount of trust as what he gets from the other man.

Thor climbs on the narrow divan and places his feet against the black hole. He isn’t even sure it would work, or the hole has only a one-way route but as he pushes, it relents, and Thor crawls through the opening until he is swallowed up to his waist.

There is standstill, he can feel it. The anticipation forces a shaky intake of air into his lungs, but when an almost reverent hand placates against his thigh, a groan escapes his throat.

The concept is mind-blowing: the fact that he is left in constant uncertainty as to what would happen next, where a touch would land; the complete surrender to someone else’s whims. It shakes his whole being with the flicker of worry and incomprehensible want. He lowers onto his elbows, trying to find a good enough position. With his head dropped back, his jaw slackened, he heaves through his open mouth with a string of moans that doesn’t stop even when there is no stimuli against his skin. A weight settles on his legs in knee-height, soft and warm skin and the sweet, blazing pressure of an erection. His own cock starts to weep at the sensation, and he squirms, bucking his hips to get more, get _something_.

The next moment he loses himself to something beast-like and visceral, an instinctive urge that wipes his mind clean. A light finger pad presses against his throbbing member, trailing toward the crown, and he imagines it mopping up the pre-cum. He imagines the finger cross the distance to a firm mouth and rub against a pink tongue, and Thor lets his body slacken. He falls back on the divan. It is too narrow; his head droops back, off the bed. The edge is cutting into his neck but Thor cannot feel it. He cannot feel anything beyond the gush of warm air that hits the head of his cock as the other man blows at it, then the pressure of lips—

. . .

—on the side as he glides up to envelope the crown in his mouth. Loki hollows his cheeks, suckling every drop of cum he finds there. His throat emits a sound, a _purr_ , at the feel of the taste he has never been able to savor directly so far (only the trails oozing from his insides, or the spots littering his thighs after each coupling – the image of dipping his fingers in it and _lick_ drives him to palm himself because it is still too much, it always will be), and he widens his jaws and slides down as far as he can get.

The size is magnificent, just as he has imagined from the limited information he has been provided. The body beneath him meets his expectations and exceeds them, too. Blond and muscular and tanned, his mouth waters at the sight. Everything about it leaves him trembling with desire and a pang of jealousy that’s trampled down with a sudden urge of possessiveness. He wants to have this man so much, have him all to himself as if by keeping him exclusively would compensate for the fact that Loki is not granted with the same built, with the same traits.

He wraps his hands around the thickness, one above the other, and watches in awe how he is unable to cover the full length. To think that he’s had this impressive cock inside him several times… it twists the desire in his lower belly with a wicked pull, and Loki whimpers with want, unable to wait any longer. He gives a last suck, twirling his tongue around the head and stealing into the slit, lapping off the new rush of cum before he pulls away.

With the lube he brought, he coats the dick with leisurely movements though it might be slippery enough with his saliva and the amount of cum it has already leaked.

Slithering on his knees up to the man’s hips and straddling him, his back against the wall, Loki lowers himself just enough to brush the crack of his ass over the leaking crown. The man stays motionless for a moment before starting to wriggle and writhe to steal further between the welcoming cheeks. Loki cracks a delighted smirk. Now it’s his time to pay back all the teasing he’s had to endure over the times. He pushes down, letting the head prod his entrance just a little before he circles his hips, and it slips off. He repeats the motion a few times, watching the muscled legs shake in frustration. His own thighs are trembling with the effort of keeping him upright but the control he maintains now gives his head a rush.

With a breathy groan he lets the crown breach him. His opening stretches around it, and Loki sinks lower, taking it in to the ridge under the crown where he stops. His teeth worry his bottom lip, mangling the snigger that pulls at it as he lifts his hips again and glides off the shaft. One tanned leg kicks out this time at an invisible enemy and Loki laughs in impish spirit. Bending his knees again, his entrance opens up anew, swallowing the crown with slippery ease before Loki stills his movements.

There is only one split second where neither moves. Then roughly, almost violently the other man drills his heels into the mattress and bucks his hips so high that he drills into Loki’s body almost to the base.

The cry Loki lets out could tear off the walls. He falls back into a crouching position, the cock fully lodged inside him. His arms are shaking as he supports himself on the strong thighs. His mind cannot wrap around the feeling of the sudden intrusion, the exquisite mixture of scalding ache and searing pleasure. It burns his nerve endings and inflames every fiber in his body.

The other lets him catch his breath. Loki leans forward, pulls himself off before slamming back down. His hole is twitching, his insides convulse, and he just realizes how quickly this would be over. He drills his nails into the thighs between his own, raking the skin as if he aimed to peel off some of its perfection and keep it to himself. It jerks from the touch, but he isn’t convinced that it has anything to do with pain.

He is a mess. The leaking head of his cock paints wet lines on his stomach with each bob, slamming against it before flagging down as he glides up then back against the muscular hips. The wild mixture of pre-cum and lube make the moves smooth and obscene. The slurping, slapping sounds lure whines from his own mouth. It’s exquisite; with his head thrown back, he rocks his body in abandon, groaning his approval though there is nobody to hear it.

He rolls his hips, trying to find the delicate spot in his body that the other never fails to hit. He lifts up and dives down again, driving the cock deeper with each thrust, and the man blends into his movements with natural ease and in synch.

 _This_ , Loki thinks, _this fight is perfect._ _This talk without words. This equality_.

He still cannot believe it works so flawlessly with this unknown man. He wonders if it was the same had they known each other. There is something unfair in how all his real relations with the people around him fail to reach this level of excellence. It bitters him, and he wonders how much of it is his fault. Even with Thor—

The thought diminishes in his mind as his climax hits him, and Loki comes all over his chest with a keening moan.

. . .

Diplomatic missions compete with his lectures on history for popularity in Thor’s mind. He isn’t sure which is farther from this title but at the moment the former has a good head start.

Alfheim is their third station in the tour after Niðavellir and the underground city of Hnitbjorg, and Thor hopes it is also the last. He has never been good in negotiations, and as he watches his father and brother engage in the talks, he wonders if he’d ever be.

The moon has swelled into full and shrunk into naught since they left Asgard, and Thor is running short of his calm and patience by each day, and by the time they finally take their leave, he has fallen out with Loki over a hundred foolish things. His brother (and it surprises Thor for he has always known Loki for enjoying that he can use his crafted words in aid of their father) is snappish and fidgety, even more snarky than he usually is as if he too only wanted to get home, and Thor’s frustration gets the better of him.

He just wants to go back to Asgard and ride to the tavern, but instead he is stuck in Alfheim and fights his brother in every step. He doesn’t want to vent his frustration on Loki, or anyone at all because it’s unfair and because his reason for being restless is shameful. Of all things there for him to hate, he hates these pity quarrels with Loki the most. Every single moment of it takes something from him, like tiny chips of his heart and it aches because he loves his brother more than anyone, but he understands that sometimes he hurts Loki just like that. This simple truth wrecks him beyond sense.

They travel home in silence. Loki retreats to the other side of their father, wrapped in resentment and spite that leek through every glance he casts Thor’s way. And Thor knows he is childish and stubborn but he lets him to.

His head is full of the images and tastes of that man, making Thor squirm and itch with want. He doesn’t want to think what he would do had he not found the man he yearns for this evening. It tires him how there is no schedule they could follow, an order in their meetings, something that is surer than the simple chance of meeting the man on a random day.

By the time they arrive to Asgard, Thor thinks he might have found a way to improve those chances at least a little bit.

. . .

He wants nothing but a hard and quick fuck. He needs it so much that the craving claws at Loki’s insides as he waits in the silence of the room in the tavern. He is aware how dependent he is on this. Not simply on the activity, not even the special arrangements of the tavern, not any more. It’s that man he wants, this unnamable concord between them, a twisted violent harmony that shakes the dams and tears through them.

His fight with Thor is still raging in his blood. His brother has a secret, there is something lurking beneath the surface Loki is unable to figure out and it rattles him. It irks him how Thor can keep _any_ secrets from him. Where was the exact point Loki lost his ability to read him?

Where was the exact point Thor stopped confiding in him?

It rips something apart in his chest, into long slivers that pierce him. Beyond the red haze of irritation it occurs to him how it is unfair that he has so many secrets that he has never told Thor yet the prospect of Thor doing the same somehow frightens him. It’s amazing how Thor can get to him with every single insignificant act, and Loki wishes wistfully that he could achieve the same, gain this exclusive level of importance in his brother’s life that, no matter how Loki protests, Thor maintains effortlessly.

He growls in frustration that turns suddenly into a startled yelp as two hands fold under the curve of his ass in the familiar greetings, and he forgets everything else. A smirk blossoms on his face: sometimes he can be lucky, too.

Loki doesn’t know what drives the other man but his wish is granted: it’s rough and wild like the edacity of birds feeding on road kill. They haven’t met for a month at least, and Loki fancies this is the way how their hunger clashes. The cock rips through him, this time taking more than giving but this is how Loki wants it now. He clamps down on it with his muscles, drawing it deeper and he groans for more still. With hands braced against the wall before him, he holds himself up in the maelstrom of inconsiderate, animalistic fuck, feeling the frustration leave his body with each brutal push of the cock inside him.

It’s over quickly but it drains Loki to an extent that it surprises him. The ache in his body just a notch stronger than the pleasure slinking in his limbs, and it’s perfect. He still feels the touch of a calloused hand on his leg, a fingertip drawing circles under his knee.

When he feels the strange scrape on his thigh, the first instinct is to pull his leg back but the hand is keeping him from retreat in a reassuring manner. It goes in a seemingly haphazard way along his skin, short straight lines made by a pointed tool. The feeling is not unpleasant, a bit ticklish even, and Loki frowns as he tries to think of what is possibly happening.

There is a pat on his knee, and Loki understands the instruction. When he pulls his legs through the hole, he finds a single row of messy, drunken letters written in black ink along the length of his whole left thigh: _tomorrow_. It’s not even a question.

He leans back, eyes on the black smudges, and Loki laughs with a bubble of joy bursting in his chest. Maybe there can be certainty even in chaos.

. . .

Usually Thor wakes early but the following morning his body is so exhausted and sated that he sleeps in much longer than intended. It’s only his mind that cannot find rest. The sparks of excitement that alight in him at the thought how he set up another encounter with the stranger for the evening are tampered by the gnawing guilt eating him away.

He rises from the bed and prepares for the day. The first thing he plans to do is make amends with Loki. The idea of them being at odds sickens him.

Loki doesn’t answer his knocking so after a moment of hesitation for the last thing he wants is Loki’s wrath upon him, Thor enters his brother’s chambers. The bed is empty and unmade, the curtains are only half drawn. Thinking that Loki might already be having his breakfast, Thor turns to leave just at the same time that the door to Loki’s bath chamber opens.

His brother is wearing an ornate tunic that rides below his hips just enough to keep him decent. His hair is dripping and he is barefoot. The sight tickles something in Thor’s chest, an affectionate laugh bubbling up in him, even when he is met with the usual scowl that tells so much of Loki’s annoyance.

“Good morning, brother.”

“You really cannot knock, can you?”

“I did!”

“And did you hear me say you can enter?”

There is something in Loki’s demeanor that tells Thor he isn’t as annoyed as he seems to be, and it makes Thor smirk. Loki strides closer, into the bright stripe of light filtering through the opening of the curtains, and the smirk freezes on Thor’s face.

There is a faint black smudge on Loki’s left thigh, sloppy lines running from mid-thigh to knee.

“Thor?” Loki stares at his brother in puzzlement. The blood seems to have drained at once from Thor’s lively face, and Loki watches in confusion as Thor’s gaze sweeps down and then back to his face in utter terror. Blue eyes move rapidly as Thor is trying to piece something together, or try to piece it together _differently_.

Then Loki looks down, too. The ink-written letters of the message from last night is still half readable on his leg. _Tomorrow_. He wanted to keep it as a reminder so the first thing in the morning he sees is the prospect of a replay of last night. Maybe it is a sentiment but he let himself have it.

“I didn’t know…” Thor croaks, and Loki’s eyes snap back at him, “it was…”

He finishes the sentence with the strange strangled voice of a cornered animal. His knees buckle under Thor and he steps back as if frightened by Loki. Behind him is a side table, and he knocks against it. A bronze goblet tumbles to the floor with loud clinks. A hand flies up to Thor’s mouth like he attempts to keep a truth within that should never slip past his lips, and Loki finally understands everything, understands that Thor _recognized_ the markings on his leg. Recognized as not something he has been told about but something he _witnessed_.

Loki blenches. He has bedded his own brother. Not once, not twice…

His blood runs cold. Involuntarily his gaze moves down, suddenly knowing what he would find under Thor’s breeches, knowing but not because he should have known all along, not because they have grown up together and there have been so many times he has seen Thor less covered than at the moment.

A horrible monster starts to thrash around in his chest, and only half of it is horror.

“You foolish idiot,” he wheezes, though he doesn’t know why it would be Thor’s fault.

Thor still stares at him, petrified and dreadful, and Loki cannot bear looking at him any longer, not until he sorts the chaos raging in him out.

“Get out,” he rasps. Thor starts. His mouth opens, most probably to utter useless things that only make everything worse, and this time Loki screams at him, the words pushed out of his body in mangled tones, under the crushing weight of impending insanity: “Get out now!”

He has never seen Thor move so fast. He is out the door before Loki could even blink, and the ensuing silence is everything but calming. His own heart beats frantically in his chest, and Loki has to crouch on the floor if he doesn’t want to fall.

His own brother.

Thor.

He has taken his brother in his body, ridden him, _tasted_ him.

He curses himself for… he doesn’t know exactly what for. The first time he had a glimpse of the man he thought was unknown to him was already too late. It’s not that any of this is his fault. Maybe it’s not even Thor’s but he needs someone to blame, someone he can push this burden onto.

A whine, full of agony, leaves his throat. It’s not even the sin they have unwittingly committed that bothers him. Not even the fact, the cruel irony that the only man who fit everything Loki has ever wanted is his own brother, the one he has always, always envied, hated and loved. It’s only fitting, ruthlessly and with stomach-churning disappointment, that he would follow Thor’s light even in this, entranced and forever drawn to it. How is it that he always has to revolve around the same sun?

What shakes him to the core is that Thor has witnessed everything. He has seen him come undone, he has seen him in his most vulnerable, he has seen what Loki can be reduced to. It fills him with glowing red hatred and rage so blinding that it steals his breath away.

. . .

In his chambers, Thor barges into his baths. He bends over the sink, unable to decide whether he wants to throw up or simply push his head in a bucket of ice-cold water. How could he be so _blind_? How could he not know?

He sinks to the floor with a groan.

How would he ever look Loki in the eyes and not think of how his creamy hips have pressed against his own in the heights of pure ecstasy.

He groans again, falling on his side, and staying there unmoving. This really isn’t something he should think of right now. Or ever again.

. . .

They haven’t seen their mother for a month, so joining her for dinner in her halls is not optional. It is by far one of the worst meals Thor has ever had to participate in. He sits across from Loki, not once meeting his eyes, not once directing his words to him. He feels fatigued, the effort of avoiding his brother grates him until he is raw and worn.

Loki wears his façade with considerably more ease, a trait he has wrought to perfection over the centuries – something Thor has always resented him for, for feeling the need to keep something from him, them. From the corner of his eyes, he dares to study his brother’s face, and catches the tightness in his gaze, the slight frown upon his brows, the glares he sends in Thor’s way from time to time. The corner of his mouth is pinched, and the lines of his lips are hard around the rim of his glass. He looks feral, dangerous, and the sight stirs something deep within Thor, something that should not be there. Loki is at his utmost beauty at times like this, when under the collected surface he is a drawn bow, a deadly viper ready to strike.

The thought makes Thor blush and squirm in his seat as Loki’s gaze locks at him, penetrating as ever with a hint of ruthlessness.

“Sons,” Frigga sighs, shaking her head with a secret little smile. “You fought again?”

She doesn’t get an answer, unless her two sons sharing a heavy glare constitutes as an answer.

“I wish you were still children,” she continues. “Quarreling every step but being fast in making amends because things have no weight when you are children. And of course, in the end you simply joined force and made the servants and guards regret the day they came to serve in the palace.”

Her chuckles make her two sons snicker to themselves, stealing a glance at each other. It’s playful first, open and loaded with little secrets only comrades share before another secret, of graver magnitude, seeps into it. Thor watches Loki turn away, jaws clenched, he watches him swallow, tendons moving under the pale skin of his elegant neck. A pink tip of a tongue darting out to wet his lips.

“I must leave,” Thor stands abruptly, frightened by the new course of his own thoughts. He hastily bends to kiss his mother. “Good night, mother.”

He hardly takes two steps when he hears a chair scrape against the tiles as Loki stands, too.

“Forgive me, mother, I need to leave as well.”

Maybe it’s a coward act but Thor doesn’t wait for him. If anything, he doubles his pace but Loki catches up with him easily on the long corridors leading away from their mother’s halls.

A hand digs into Thor’s arms, like the talons of a raven, and though Loki seems slight in built, fury gives him intimidating strength. He hurls Thor against the wall, other hand wrapping around his throat, squeezing. The snarl on his face is almost animalistic.

“If you dare to tell anyone, _anyone_ about me,” he hisses. The words don’t have their usual honey-smoothness. They are rough, ugly things, contorted until they can barely be recognized. Loki is almost out of breath, and all Thor is able to do is lift his head to ease the pressure on his throat. “I… I swear you will regret—“

“Loki,” Thor manages, bewildered and offended at the same time. Loki eases the grip on his throat, sliding his hand to the base of Thor’s neck, pinning him with his own weight. “Loki, why would I tell about you to anyone? Why would I harm you?”

Loki only snorts. His lips are trembling with rage and a certain vulnerability, a kind of agony Thor doesn’t understand.

“Besides, even if I wanted to, how can I do it without incriminating myself?”

“Huh, indeed,” he huffs in grim satisfaction, and it saddens Thor that he would believe him only because Thor would gain nothing of spreading rumors about Loki, and not because he knows Thor wouldn’t do it to his brother.

“Do you really distrust me so much?” he whispers, unable to hide the hurt from his voice.

There is a flicker in the depth of his eyes, a desperate and soft one, something he never hid when they were still children, then Loki turns away and it’s gone. Thor cannot help but reach out in the old manner, thick fingers curling around Loki’s slender neck, and forces his head back. His thumb slips over the corner of Loki’s lips, and suddenly, the thoughts come unbidden again. The same lips have been wrapped around his cock once. He hasn’t seen it but he can clearly picture it. Sweat starts to bloom on his forehead.

Loki’s arm slips lower, breaking the contact with the exposed skin on Thor’s neck, and he takes a hasty step back.

They are acutely aware now of every touch, of every glance, and it’s like a wildfire in their mind. Entranced, Thor watches him swallow, his Adam’s apple bobbing with it, a slight shift under the smooth skin of his throat. He wonders how it would taste if he could leave red marks over it – and he needs to bite his own tongue to keep himself from going there again.

“You were not supposed to be found in a place like that, Thor,” Loki says, his tone sharp. “Someone like you… why would you go there?”

Without waiting for a reply he strides away, not sparing a glance back.

“You wouldn’t understand,” Thor murmurs bitterly, and it’s a wonder Loki catches his words. He spins around, casting a glare at him.

“Oh of course not. You are too complex for me to decipher.”

Thor fights back the bitterness crawling up his throat and turns the question against Loki instead. “And why did _you_ go there, Loki?”

For a second Loki simply stands there, a mixture of emotions twisting his face, blended together so seamlessly that Thor cannot distinguish one from the other.

“You don’t even know me if you don’t know the answer,” he whispers finally, cold and full of scorn.

“Maybe we have the same reason.”

“Oh really?” Loki’s laugh snaps like a rubber bend. “Are you as well continuously compared to… _yourself_?”

Shrugging, with a sour half-smile on his face, Thor says, “I told you we had the same reason.”

For one second surprise is apparent on Loki’s face before the scowl returns with a hint of disbelief. Before Thor could say anything more, he turns around and leaves him standing there in the middle of the corridor.

. . .

There is something pathetic in how they are trying to avoid each other, Loki senses the ridiculousness of it. Somehow, it is futile. He can hide from Thor but he cannot hide from his own memories. The worst of all, from his own frustration, his own yearning. When he sees Thor, he cannot look at him the same way ever again, he cannot _unsee_ things. Thor is something to behold, he could never deny that, but knowing that he’s had the opportunity so many times to have the only type of attention Thor had never been able to show toward Loki focus on him is different. He is not entirely sure it leaves him disgusted, or somehow _special_.

“We must solve this,” Thor corners him one day. Even though he is the one who forces this impromptu encounter in a niche of one of the winding corridors, he looks more like the cornered animal now rather than Loki. 

He folds his arms in mock seriousness. “Oh, really, and how?”

Thor rubs at the back of his neck, squinting at him apologetically. “I don’t know, you are the smarter.”

Loki quirks an eyebrow with utter despise. “And you suggest me to find a spell that makes everything undone?”

“Of course, not. I just don’t want to be at odds with you anymore. Why don’t we just accept that it happened and move on?”

“Oh don’t you love the simple ideas of simple minds?” Loki sighs, his lips twisting into sarcastic lines.

Thor glares at him. Ignoring it, Loki lets a shifty smile spread on his face, and Thor almost recoils, sensing the danger. He doesn’t move, paralyzed by anticipation, only watches Loki, blue eyes tight and unblinking. With easy steps Loki crosses the distance between them, until their chests are only an inch apart. His nose catches Thor’s sultry scent and he inhales, locking it into every cell of his body. He watches Thor’s eyelids lower, his breathing quick against Loki’s cheek. They are almost the same height. Loki only has to tip his head back slightly.

“Yes, Thor, maybe we can forget it,” he whispers. They are so close. His lips brush against Thor’s, and for a second Loki is sure Thor wants to lean in instead of away before Thor jerks as if bitten. As he strides away, Loki’s cynical laughter follows his departure.

. . .

The following day Thor leaves for a hunt, and it is very telltale that he goes alone, to the bewilderment of his friends. Loki watches his depart from the balcony of his chambers, not feeling any relief, only building frustration and a sense of helplessness that makes him lash out at everyone.

Thor doesn’t return for a whole week. Every single night of his absence Loki spends in the tavern, being taken by men, repeatedly, one after the other, from sunset till sunrise. His appetite is ravenous, insatiable, and the desperation drives him for more, for wilder, for harder and wickeder. He is fucked loose and sore and raw, filled to the brim with the mixed semen of anonymous men, and it’s exactly what he has ever pursued yet it doesn’t fill him with anything but a sense of _absence_. Every time he comes out wanting still.

Slowly, with a sinking feeling he understands that everything is wrecked now, and the tavern won’t ever be the same again. He can take as many as he wants but he cannot help but compare, cannot help but, in the end, submit to the urge and howl Thor’s name in his completion, letting the images come and rush over him, and his orgasm shakes him to the core of his being.

. . .

It is at dinnertime when Thor returns. It takes but one look for Loki to realize the distance has helped Thor just as little as visiting the tavern helped Loki. Their eyes lock over the table, and it’s so voluptuous, so full of pent up _lust_ that Loki’s insides quiver at the sight. He doubts he can hold it back any longer before insanity consumes him.

He retreats to his room, lounging on his bed and waiting. It wouldn’t be Thor if he didn’t want to put an end to it, rushed and impatient as he is, but this time Loki cannot find any resentment in himself.

“So was your hunt successful, brother?” he smirks as Thor shuts the door behind him, as always, not bothering with knocking. He is positively feral, gaze blazing as it does when he sinks into the throes of fight and bloodshed.

“A waste of time,” he grunts, voice low and hoarse. “I shouldn’t have let you detour me.”

“Me? It wasn’t me running away from this,” Loki goads. He leans on his hands, baring his neck in unspoken challenge. Thor strides closer to the bed. His gait still carries the passion and thirst of the hunter, and the thought is arousing. “So what will you do now, Thor?”

“What I should have weeks ago,” Thor says. His hand slides to the back of Loki’s neck, turning his face upwards as he kneels between his legs. “Just tell me without enigma and silver lies, do you want this as much as I do?”

Loki’s lips twitch into a smirk. He squints at Thor, and cannot help himself as he shrugs, “Why don’t you just go ahead and find it out?”

“You are insufferable,” Thor growls, but he has the small consolation that the laugh Loki lets out, teasing and naughty, morphs into a pitiful puff of air as Thor’s lips latch onto the curve of his neck.

Loki’s arms wind around Thor’s shoulders, and in the next moment Thor is pulling at his tunic, rough hands sliding down the soft plains of Loki’s chest, brushing away his clothes, tugging at his pants.

He pulls away, moans at the sight of Loki’s naked form displayed for his gaze to roam over it freely. His hands are hovering above Loki, caught between wanting to touch and not daring to cross the line. There is a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes, a frown that flickers into existence. Loki sits up abruptly, hands grabbing Thor’s hair and fisting, pulling at it roughly.

His teeth show as he hisses. “Thor, don’t stop. Don’t think. Not now.”

He rips Thor’s tunic off, clawing at his breeches, shedding every fine material his fingers find before inhibition and reality would kick in. His hands flutter over the taut muscles in Thor’s abdomen, crawling over the shifting shoulder blades and scurrying down in the hollow of his spine. He brushes a sigh against Thor’s collarbone, a whisper of worship because Thor is beautiful, and probably he is what Loki has ever wanted, with all the barbed wires and thorns of his envious heart.

Thor has his face buried in the crook of his shoulders, letting him pick him apart piece by piece, stroke by stroke. He pants into his neck, biting, suckling, Loki’s name a constant prayer on his lips. Loki’s teeth bite into his earlobe, worrying the flesh with just the right amount of pain, and Thor reciprocates it with a bite in the meat of the pallid shoulders. He grinds against Loki’s thighs, eliciting an impatient groan, and he grins at his brother before he flips him over on his stomach.

He wants to see the reaction when he brushes over the tender spots he has discover over the months, wants to hear how it makes Loki undone. He has learnt to read from the undulation of the muscles of his lower body but seeing the full picture now is too strong temptation to resist. He scoots to Loki’s feet. With deft fingers he draws a slow line from the globe of his heels over the curve of his calves up to the knees, and back again. His tongue laps at the thin layer of skin right under the anklebone and follows a route to the tendon above his heel, chasing the path of his own fingers. Under his lips, Loki twitches, the soft lines of his muscles protruding in the back of his legs. There is a spot behind his knees, a beautiful patch of skin Thor’s tongue rasps over, and it draws out the first clearly audible sigh from Loki. Thor cannot help the smirk that pulls at his lips.

“Don’t be so full of yourself,” Loki snarls, not even lifting his head to check Thor’s expression, but his words are too breathy to have an actual biting quality to them, and Thor lets out a chuckle at that.

He rubs his stubble on the back of Loki’s thigh, earning a hiss and a half audible string of creative curses. To sooth the burn, he wets it with open-mouthed kisses that smack playfully, and he feels how they ease an underlying tension in Loki’s body.

Loki whimpers into the pillow, squeezes his eyes shut, bites in his fist to keep more from escaping as Thor’s tongue outlines the underside of his buttocks. He paints a wet line from the outside toward the crease, and Loki finds himself panting loudly as it touches the crack just lightly before he turns to the other mound, mirroring the movement. He knows Thor taunts him, draws it out as long as he can, trying to lure a plea out of him. His strong hands knead the flesh of his ass, and suddenly his tongue steals into the crease, and Loki cries out in a sudden flash of pleasure. Thor chuckles against his tight entrance, and Loki fists the pillow with the recognition that his control is slipping. The laps of the tongue in that intimate part of his body never fails to unravel something in him. He heaves into his fist, drops of sweat appearing on his brows as Thor intrudes him wetly. His muscles clench around the tongue as thick fingers find a spot behind his balls that makes Loki’s eyes roll back in his head. They have done this before but never like this, never without a wall keeping them from this final revelation. There is an inherent fear in him of letting his guards down but Thor is like that storm rolling forward, nothing is able to hold him back. A part of him wants to lie back and let the devastation swipe him away, the part of him that wants to scream with pleasure at every electric jolt of the tongue, every nip of the teeth, and grind back and demand more.

He cranes his head back to catch a glimpse of Thor, and maybe it was a bad idea if he wanted to regain a semblance of control. The sight of his brother’s face wedged between his ass cheeks, the feel of his tongue flickering across his hole, the rough stubble scratching his balls are too much to bear, and Loki bucks against him with a long whimper. Thor lets out a low growl, like that of a hungry beast, and his fingers dig into his hips. It shakes Loki apart.

The intimacy of it is unfamiliar and awkward but the sparks it arouses cannot be denied. His throat is hoarse from the groans he doesn’t let escape – he cannot hand himself over to complete abandon, not yet. He knows it’s foolish, his distrust in Thor at this point. He knows that even if it wasn’t an incestuous act that is to be kept a secret, the loyal fool would keep his word till the grave. There is also something he hasn’t thought of in the haze of dread and anger: if there is anyone in the Nine Realms who wouldn’t compare him to Thor, it’s Thor himself. And still, a part of him holds back.

Thor presses the flat of his tongue to the V-shaped patch of skin right above the crease, and he feels the muscles twitch in Loki’s buttocks as he cants his hips. There is a fine sheen of sweat covering the small of Loki’s back, and Thor tastes it, licking the shallow dips on either side of his spine, the dips that has driven him crazy with want every single time at the tavern. His nose dive into the valley of the coiling spine, temptation on its own, a white serpent that might poison him to death in the end. He kisses his way up to the nape of Loki’s neck. The sweat sticks Loki’s hair to his neck in fine curls – Thor brushes them away, softly and slowly exposing the skin underneath, and for a second he only breathes against it, too overwhelmed by a foreign feeling to make any move. Something clenches his heart, but he guesses it’s a good thing. _His brother._ The thought doesn’t fill him with shame anymore, only with infinite love and affection.

“Oh, Loki,” he sighs, and he fancies it tells everything there is to say at the moment.

He rests his weight against Loki, chest to back, his now full erection pressing into the crease between the two firm mounds. Nuzzling the side of his brother’s face, he kisses the sharp angle of his cheekbone and the edge of his jaw. Loki snuffles into the pillow, open mouthed, flushed. Thor twines his finger into the ebony locks, forces Loki’s head to turn, and they are kissing, hungered and desperate, moaning into the other’s mouth.

It’s so absurd, having Thor’s beard rasp against him this way, and not in the brotherly manner Loki has grown used to. There is something much more forbidden in this than what they have done so far, and even compared to what they are planning yet, and so Loki throws himself into it, even if it will only forge the bond between them harder. For several minutes they are lying there kissing, stroking every inch of skin they can reach, and it’s filthy and sacred at the same time, so intimate that Loki’s limbs tremble under its weight.

His tongue rakes the inner part of Thor’s lips, and his brother sighs into the kiss, tightening his embrace and pressing closer still. Loki’s hand glides over his chest, raking his nails along the tanned skin, and pinches a nipple until Thor starts to rock against him. The crowns of their members bump into each other and they moan, the sound amplified by their joined lips.

Thor lets Loki untangle himself. He wriggles down the bed, and Thor watches numbly as he takes him into his mouth. The view is almost too much, Loki’s devilish smirk pulled taut around Thor’s girth. Green eyes close slowly, like this activity is everything Loki’s ever wanted to do, and Thor lets himself believe it is so. He leans forward and yanks Loki’s hips toward himself, momentarily dislodging him. Loki’s indignant yelp is cut short as Thor mirrors his position, and licks at the head of his cock.

“Thor—“ Loki gasps, and Thor chuckles at how his eyebrows curve into fine slopes, mouth agape in pleasure.

The chamber is soon filled with muffled noises as they suck each other off. Thor’s large hand cradles Loki’s hips, moves in constant soothing circles as he prods the tip of his tongue into the folds of the foreskin. Loki’s deft fingers on his cock, twisting and shifting and pulling, stealing under the balls and tickling the fine hair on his thigh to sweep back in a curve in the crease of his ass, send onrush of pleasure after pleasure through his body.

Loki’s throat convulses around the thickness. Tears of strain spring to his eyes as he draws off for air yet nothing but lust jolts through him. He drops his head on the thick batch of muscles in Thor’s thigh, and whimpers helplessly against the heavy balls, unable to contain it any longer. Thor’s cock twitches in his hand but his brother doesn’t stop sucking; Loki looks past the straining erection between his fingers, eyes Thor in vertigo as he descends on his cock, head bobbing up and down.

“Stop,” he pushes at Thor’s shoulder. At this rate he would come way too early, and that really would be a pity.

Thor only smirks at him but leans over for a kiss that involves way too many teeth and tongue to be gentle. His hand slips between them, and he palms Loki, cupping and stroking him while Loki only breathes into his mouth.

“It’s in the drawer,” Loki nudges him. In the bedside table Thor’s groping hand finds the jar half filled with oil, and for a second he halts to meditate on all those occasions Loki has made use of the missing half. It sends ripples of excitement down to his toes but also a jab of jealousy as well, an inborn instinct to keep what he holds dear only for himself.

With his fingers coated, he reaches down between their bodies again, letting the oil drip and run down in the crack of Loki’s buttocks before he presses against the entrance and stays there. Loki lifts his right leg, placing his foot on Thor’s hip to provide better access. His fingertips rub Thor’s scalp, raking his hair on the back of his head, curving to the side to locate the spot behind his ear that makes him hum with pleasure. His own finger probes Loki’s opening, circling it, his nail scraping over it before he pushes in just a little. Then, out again. One finger in, just to the first knuckle, he stays there wriggling and turning before he backs up again.

The hand in his hair twists, his scalp prickling but it only makes Thor smirk even wickeder. Loki’s pupils are dilated, the dimmed sharpness of his gaze making him look odd and alien but as he bares his teeth in warning, it mingles enough to leave Thor almost trembling with want. Everything about Loki is now wanton and dangerous.

“Don’t play with me,” he hisses, keeping Thor away when he attempts to kiss him. Instead, he thrusts the finger an inch deeper, curling it a bit before retreating again. Loki exhales through his nostrils like a furious bull, his heel kicking Thor hard.

“Are you always this silent?” Thor frowns.

Loki forces it out through clenched teeth, “Yes.”

“Hm.”

Loki’s nails dig into his arm as he eyes him with suspicion. Thor only grins, adding a second finger but not going more than halfway in before he draws back. His thrusts are slow and shallow, bordering on being rather annoying than capable of giving any amount of pleasure. His pads touch the delicate spot within Loki only for a second, almost like the brush of butterfly wings. It’s enough to wring Loki’s body with anticipation just to leave him suspended in the end when he doesn’t increase the pressure.

Loki squirms beneath him as Thor latches his lips against the arch of his neck.

“Come on, Loki, I want to hear you.”

Loki only growls. When Thor stays motionless in him, a strange light appears in his eyes that Thor knows all too well from the past centuries, the bog-light of his spirit when a challenge is accepted. The first moan, though, erupts in Thor’s throat because the sight of Loki, tendons taut, teeth biting into his lips as he pushes down then jerks his hips up, fucking himself on Thor’s fingers, this sight, he knows, will stay with him until Ragnarök comes.

“Thor, damn you,” he scowls breathless, fingers still clawing into the meat of Thor’s shoulder. “Do it!”

Thor knows he shouldn’t laugh; the blood springing from under Loki’s nails is something he deserves, he reckons. He cannot help but tease Loki, it’s what they have been doing all along in the tavern. In their whole lives. His lips draw a wet line along Loki’s jaw, and without warning he thrusts in and over the spot, and Loki moans loudly, his hips rolling with the motion. The sound reverberates through Thor’s body, lighting up his veins and tearing at his nerves and he moans with Loki in unison, firing up each other’s desire. 

He cannot hold it much longer, not with Loki clenching and twitching around his fingers and with the knowledge of how good it feels when he does so around Thor’s dick.

“And now I will fuck you, brother,” he croaks hoarsely, and from the long groan Loki lets out, it’s almost like he just came. He knows they shouldn’t call each other that way, not in bed, not under any circumstances anymore, but maybe exactly because they shouldn’t, it holds the kind of excitement that coils and churns at the base of the spine.

“You are devious,” Loki snickers but opens his legs wide for him. His heels dig deep into Thor’s back as his brother pushes in with one swift thrust that knocks the breath out of Loki and draws tears to his eyes. It feels wonderful, and it only gets better when Thor, without waiting for him to gasp for air, yanks himself almost free then slams back again. He rams into Loki carelessly, skin slapping against skin.

Thor is vocal, and somehow it makes it easier for Loki to let the last scraps of inhibition go. The sensation is amazing, it overexposes his mind, and on the blank surface it is only pure white pleasure. It’s nothing he has ever had, and everything he has given up on. The tavern, though lewd in its design, offered only limited intimacy with no direct contact – nobody kissed him just under his armpit, ran their fingers along the knobs of his spine and held him like they never wanted to hold anybody else. With his name being a constant moan on the other’s lips. Lying under the crushing weight of a young, strong body, with his own arms twined around it and never want to let go. He doesn’t have experience in this, in freedom with such level of intimacy, the freedom of not only desire but trust as well. Maybe not full trust but to the extent Loki would ever be capable of.

His hands slip on Thor’s ass and he grips it. The muscles under his palms ripple and contract with each move, and it arouses him, the effort Thor makes, with which he dives deeper and deeper into him. The joints and sinews shift in his back, shoulder blades shift, and he is beautiful with sweat shining in the crevasses of his chest, lips chopped and throat gulping for air. He grabs Thor’s arms and holds onto him as they rock the bed and shift slowly off of it.

The laugh is stuck in Loki as with one particularly nasty drive they indeed tumble down and he lands on the back of his head and shoulders. A moan squeezes through his crumpled throat as Thor lands with his hand on either side of Loki’s head, not even for an inch slipping out of him. The angle is horrible: he is upside down, clinging to Thor only with his calves around his waist and Loki can hardly breathe. There is, though, something utterly wild in how Thor drills into him, lifting and slamming down his hips, half on the bed, half off of it, not stopping for a second as if his sole aim was to fuck Loki into the floor.

Loki grabs himself, fisting his erection and smearing the moist over the shaft to make the movement smoother. He opens his mouth in a half-choked moan as he pumps himself, all the while unable to take his eyes off Thor’s face, reddened from the effort. He is a gorgeous beast, something to behold, fear and crave for. His hair escaped from the loose braid he wore before, and now cascades down like a waterfall of honey to frame his face. Thor’s jaw is set, and his breath comes in short huffs. He bears down on him like it was a fight, relentless and till last blood. The sight of the thick tendons protruding in his neck, the veins encircling his arms and throbbing with each pound of his hips releases his orgasm in Loki, and he comes with a long wail. His semen sprays across his own chest. A drop lands on his chin but before he could wipe it off, Thor leans over and licks it, and a spasm runs through Loki’s body. With the position, Thor sheaths himself impossibly deep inside him, and the sensation makes Loki hiss.

“Don’t worry, I’ll make you come again,” Thor smirks confidently as he pulls Loki back on the bed like he weighed nothing at all.

Loki snorts, pushing at him but it only earns him a playful slap and Thor manhandling him onto his knees.

“I know you like it this way, yes?” Thor murmurs. His lips are damp on Loki’s earlobe. The bulk of his forearm feels like a log on the nape of Loki’s neck as Thor pushes him into the bedclothes, forcing his spine into an arch. He cannot really answer with his mouth full of fur and linen but, frankly, there is nothing he can deny here.

The head of Thor’s cock pushes in easily but Loki from with the touch, his body oversensitive in the lingering tingles of his completion.

“It shall be better,” Thor sooths him, still sheathed only with the crown inside him. His chest is blazing hot as it brushes against Loki’s back but his hand rubs his flank in a way that makes Loki push against his hips and draw his cock deeper inside. Thor lets him fuck himself on his length a few times, doing nothing but trailing kisses across his back. Endearments spill from his lips that would normally make Loki itch but now is different. The deep baritone of Thor’s voice, the vibration from his chest undulating over to Loki’s body only urges him to move faster and more desperate, his half-flaccid cock slowly turns harder again.

Thor lifts up slightly, squeezing him into the sheet now with his hands on his shoulders instead of his forearm, and when Loki pulls off, he takes over the control of the inward thrust, and Loki cries out in surprise. He is still amazed how Thor can hit that treasured spot inside him, almost without mistake. He turns his head to the side, laying it on the wet fur, and drinks in the air with hiccups and gasps in the slowly rising level of ecstasy.

Thor takes him with languid strokes before his moves turn ragged. His grip slips from Loki’s shoulders to his hips as he rolls into him with less rhythm and more force. The stimuli are almost too much so Loki is taken by surprise by his second orgasm, even though it’s less overwhelming. He can hardly register Thor roaring out, his grip turning blinding around his hipbones as he spills inside him, grunting his name like it’s the sweetest secret in the world.

They stay like that for long minutes, Thor still wedged in him. His own muscles render Loki immobile, his limbs fallen asleep in the forced posture. When Thor pulls out with a wanton pop, giving way to the flow of his semen, Loki can only lazily groan. The sound turns into a whimper when something wet tickles his balls up to his loose hole, and he realizes with a deepening blush that Thor is licking him clean, humming like a satisfied cat before he flips Loki on his back again and tends to the mess on his stomach, too.

He looks up with a smirk. Loki watches him with an open yet mysterious expression, pupils still blown, face flushed.

“You are such a beast, Thor,” he says with a tone laced with lust and maybe affection. He wipes the cum off the corner of his lips and thrusts his finger into Thor’s mouth, before doing so with his own tongue. His hand twines into Thor’s damp hair, pulling him close and tangling their limbs helplessly together.

With body and mind sated, Thor nestles his head in the crook of his brother’s shoulders. His fingers are restless on Loki’s smooth skin, slipping and curling as if following invisible and intricate markings. Loki’s hand rests on the nape of his neck at the line where hair meets skin, rubbing and massaging, and Thor is already half-asleep when Loki murmurs.

“Next time I want to take you.”

His heart jolts in Thor’s chest, not only because the concept to be taken is foreign to him but because of the prospect of _next time_. Next time, yes, he would let Loki have him.

He nuzzles a spot beneath Loki’s jaw, smile apparent in his voice. “I was thinking… for the sake of nostalgia, shall we cut a hole in the wall between our rooms?”

 

**Author's Note:**

> ugh now I won't write porn for a long time... at least a month:D


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